


Making Bank and Then Some

by AVeryGoodBoy



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Breaking and Entering, Canon-Typical Violence, Dutch is here but only for a sec, M/M, No Spoilers, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon, Probably not enough lube, Robberies All Around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 19:38:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18350348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVeryGoodBoy/pseuds/AVeryGoodBoy
Summary: Arthur’s face twists a bit with confusion. “Just like that?!”Dutch pulls out his pocket watch, briefly checking the time before removing a cigar from his vest. “Just like that."Blackwater offers new life to many folks in West Elizabeth, but there's a place for you in camp van der Linde and you only want to prove yourself.





	Making Bank and Then Some

**Author's Note:**

> This was just extremely self indulgent...

Already down on your luck, you can’t imagine things getting any worse.

As a young man, you figured making it on your own would be easy enough. You only carried cash, but it was more than most had for a new beginning and you could at least rent a room or buy a meal. Blackwater was fairly new to you, having only been there for errands once or twice. With its rapid growth and “fresh start” reputation, surely, what did you have to lose?

Your money, for one, stolen before you even stepped into her borders, miles away in the open road. Your stagecoach driver reacted much faster than you with his weapon and still promptly died for it, shot twice in the chest. You carried a pistol just for these emergencies, but when the trio of scummy men open the door, out numbering you, it was easier to surrender. Your gun goes along with them and they ride off hooting and hollering with their job well done, fifty dollars richer. It’s your first lesson the somewhat Wild West teaches you and one that won’t be forgotten anytime soon.

At least you’re still alive.

You kick the dirt in frustration before you make your way to the city anyhow. It’s the only idea you have, but with your sudden lack of money, all of your previous plans seem to fall through. Too proud to beg, your morals hold out only until hunger sets in, and you rack your brain for any quick solution.

Buildings were spaced enough to make a few alleyways and at night, drunks would wander without a care in the world. It was easy to rob these poor fools for the spare dollars they carried, especially if you simply pretended to only bump into them. Most were so busy yelling obscenities upon collision that by the time they were any wiser, you were long gone, and your sudden idea became a survival tactic. You pilfered just enough to get by in an effort to keep the law off of your trail, but merely surviving would never be enough.

After nearly a week, you had your eyes on bigger prizes.

Bigger prizes like a certain Van der Linde, apparently.

You didn’t recognize the gentleman, but figured the multitude of rings and gilded chains hanging from ebony pockets were an indicator of wealth, at least, more than the drunks. He puffed from a cigar near a brute you gathered was even stronger than he looked. A bad idea, your gut warns, but your greed gets the better of you. As soon as you notice them heading towards your familiar alleyways, you try to follow them. Not that you get very far.

You think you’re still in the clear when the imposing man catches you right as you round a corner, rough hand around your throat tight enough to get the message across. The slam nearly knocks the breath out of you. Your hands fly for the brunette’s wrists, but he doesn’t relent, breaking one of yours away with his free arm and pinning it near your head.

“ _Gotcha_ , ya sneaky lil’ shit…” His voice is low and gravely, words meant to startle you. You fix your gaze on the man and try your best to stand your ground despite your position.

“Easy, Arthur. No need to kill him,” Dutch says, tone entertained. The hand on his companion’s shoulder has the tight grip around your own throat loosen, and you suddenly can breathe a little easier as you steel your nerves.

There’s a moment of silence like they expect you to speak, but you keep quiet to rack your brain for an escape plan. The man locking you against the wall is clearly impatient and gives you a bit of a shake. “Well? Ain’t got _nothin’_ to say for yourself?”

“...Lissen, if you let me go, I promise you won’t see me again,” you bargain. The older man barks a laugh, leaning against the brick in your peripheral on his shoulder. Your gaze doesn’t leave the blue hue of the man in front of you, stalwart despite the obvious disadvantage.

“My friend, _squeezin’_ the breath outta you gives us the same results, does it not?” The gentleman makes a twisting motion with his hands for emphasis and you swallow thickly, swearing Arthur can feel it. You nod your agreement so that neither man grows any more upset. “Tell you what. You give me one good reason not to have my dear boy strangle you outright, and we’ll let you go.”

Having no reason to believe the hand around your throat would hesitate any order, a flicker of panic ripples over your face. “I-I hardly got anything on me!” Your other hand moves from around Arthur’s wrist and fishes for the five or six dollars in your pocket, most of it coins. “I’m not even from here, I had some… some bad luck. Got robbed before I could even reach Blackwater. I jus’ wanted enough to get back on my feet, I swear!”

Dutch quirks a brow, outstretched hand taking the offered money. Under his breath, he asks your name and you softly speak it after a moment of hesitation. Your gaze finally leaves Arthur’s, but only so you can attempt to read the man’s face as he counts it out. His collected aura intimidated you just as much as the brute’s. When he’s finished, a snort leaves him, unimpressed, and he shoves the cash back into your hand. 

“‘Hardly’ is the correct word for it. Looks like you found half of it on the ground before you even had dreams of swipin’ from strangers. Tell me, son how long you been surviving in these alleyways?” Dutch’s voice almost softens some, curiosity in the cracked sound. Your gaze flicks to the ground like a chastised child and humiliation creeps towards your cheeks.

“...Nothin’ longer than a few days, maybe a week,” you reply after a quiet second.

“And your first thought was rummagin’ through pockets?” Arthur’s voice is much more scolding than Dutch’s, sending a shiver down your back as you try not to flinch. Clearly it stems from his irritation. You were wasting his time and more importantly, he didn’t take too kindly to your attempted thievery.

“Now, now, you might’ve done the same thing years ago if not for me,” Dutch jabs, causing Arthur to shift his eyes towards the wall in what you could assume was embarrassment. He grumbles, but says nothing more. “If we were any other fools, maybe you’d be more successful! You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Your wide eyes blink up at Dutch, skeptical only because it feels like a trick question. After nodding your head, the elder again clasps his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. The man scratches at stubble after freeing your pinned wrist and lets go of your throat, giving you some space. Immediately, you flex your wrist, fixing your previous captor with a brief scowl.

He narrows his eyes, but before Arthur can retaliate, Dutch has an arm practically slung around your shoulders. You aren’t quite as tall as he is and it makes the almost embrace a little more awkward than you had prepared for. “You’ve got a little talent in those slippery hands, I know it. So if you’re willin’ to use those hands to help out…”

His frowning associate raises a hand as if to interject, but you’re much too fast with a quick nod, sold from the moment Dutch’s words leave his lips. This was better than prison or death. “Y-Yeah, sure! Anything.”

A broken laugh leaves Mr. Van der Linde and he pats you once or twice hard enough to have you cant forward even after he steps away. “Not so fast, son! We did only just meet. Now, I like you. Got an honest look about you despite your circumstances. So you’re gonna help out my friend Mr. Morgan here with some business of ours. You make sure this business goes as planned. You understand?”

Arthur’s face twists a bit with confusion. “Just like that?!”

Dutch pulls out his pocket watch, briefly checking the time before removing a cigar from his vest. “Just like that. Go on, boys, you better get busy! I’ve got a few things that need tending to while we’re still here. Arthur, make sure you keep an eye out for our new friend. Meet me by the gates when you’re done and we can get outta here, alright?”

There’s a few seconds of Arthur attempting to muster up anything to counter the decision, but he sighs instead, body slightly heaving with the action. “...Sure, Dutch. Shouldn’t take long.” 

He turns to you, swatting at you to leave the alleyway as if trying to spook away a horse.

“ _C’mon, then…!_ ”

You jolt from the unexpected action and quickly dip out of the alley despite not even knowing which direction to go.

 

* * *

 

Several weeks go by after your successful job with Arthur. You keep to yourself for the most part, but the rest of the gang accepts you with relative ease. You’re given some of Arthur’s old clothes- which you don’t want to admit are rather comfortable, if not a little too big for you- until some extra money comes in. The women thought you were cute enough and you ate up the attention, even flirting back sometimes, much to Miss Grimshaw’s dismay. As if the girls needed another distraction.

What you lacked in “criminal skill” you make up for in being a hard enough worker, completing chores around the camp when the others rode into town. On your own time, you improve your aim with the gun (just in case) and even keep an ear out for information the group might find useful whenever you’re allowed in Blackwater. Your contributions are meager so far, but Dutch recognizes your effort, and that’s enough for you.

While time had passed and your attempted robbery was already forgiven, Arthur never fully warmed up to you it seemed. He eyed you like a hawk, convinced you were one day away from robbing everyone blind and turning tail before the dawn. You didn’t appreciate having your every movement scrutinized, and the two of you butt heads at almost every turn.

Dutch would eventually strive to improve you in every way he could, pairing you with Arthur so you’d “learn a thing or two”. When he sends the cowboy on relatively simple jobs, you’re mentioned as if you were an afterthought to tag along. You both can recognize the deliberate way the orders are given, but even Arthur had to acknowledge the results of your practice. What bothered you more was how working with your new mentor recently began to make you feel.

Arthur was never a bad looking man and you thought so the moment you first saw him. He was powerfully strong, far more skilled than he’d give himself credit for. You thought he was charming and sweeter than he had any business being. His gritty voice shook you to the core with the right swing and if you stare into those river blue eyes long enough, you’d soften under their shine. He made you weak, but occasionally arguing and reluctantly working together seemed to be all you would ever get.

You were convinced he hated you anyway.

By the time your ears catch wind of a simple little homestead further west of Blackwater, Mr. Van der Linde himself recognizes your growth and requests you look into it. The immediate look of surprise on your face draws a laugh from the other, and he predictably suggests you take Arthur with you. This time, however, the implication is that Arthur would be following you instead. That thought alone sends a little adrenaline through your veins.

“Let him know I said this was your job. But don’t forget, he’s your _partner _, not your underling. You understand?” Dutch warns, folding down a page of the book he’d been reading. “You do right by him and he’ll do the same.”__

____

Already halfway out of his tent, you give Dutch a confident thumbs up despite the nervousness that fills your chest. Arthur’s tent is nearby, but it’s obvious he’s not in it, and you happen to find him near the outer edges of the camp after a bit of searching. He scribbles away in a journal against a tree and you brace yourself for the man to be agitated once you brief him on your job.

__

“...Dutch says you gotta come with me,” you start, hands sliding into your pockets. “Found a little house by Blackwater and it looks like there’s some money.”

__

Arthur quirks a brow, dropping his pencil between the pages and closing the book. “You found a house…” The words are filled with disbelief. You know the only reason he hasn’t refused you outright is because you mentioned Dutch. “How far from Blackwater?”

__

“Far enough.” You realize the answer isn’t satisfactory when Arthur begins to open his journal once more and you frown, eyes narrowed. “If we leave soon, you can see it before dark! If it looks bad, we can get outta there, but you owe me that at least!”

__

“I don’t owe you _shit_ , boy,” he spits, fast as lightning. The tone is firm enough to quicken your pulse and shut you up entirely. Arthur’s eyes don’t even leave the page, which you’re thankful for in the end. By the time he sighs, closing the book once more, your red face manages to settle down. “But I’ll go with ya. Don’t need you gettin’ into trouble tryin’ some funny stuff on your own.”

There’s relief on your face and you run a hand through your hair. The curling ends wrap around your fingers while you step back. “...Then I’ll go get ready. Meet you by the horses?” The other man nods silently as he stands, brushing himself off.

_******** _

You watch him stride past you without another word, walking to your own cot to at least pick up your gun, belt, and holster, waiting near the horses after packing. You give your good girl a few pats, and before you realize it, Arthur has already climbed onto his horse, reins in hand. You follow suit, beckoning to the man before your filly starts to trot. Arthur rides up beside you and you lead him further west to where you remember the house being, traveling in relative silence.

_******** _

 

_******** _

* * *

_******** _

 

_******** _

There’s still some daylight by the time you both get there, but Arthur deemed it easy enough of a job and you both wait for nightfall before making a move. Horses hitched far enough away in the trees, Arthur searches through saddlebags for the appropriate tools.

_******** _

“So. You got a plan or what?” he inquires, pulling a black bandanna out from the pack. He ties it loosely around his neck.

_******** _

You absolutely don’t have a plan considering you weren’t expecting to make it this far, but you don’t want to let Arthur know that. You flick back to the house in the distance and quickly size it up. The building looked fairly new, probably built within the past few years. There are sparse trees, enough to keep it mostly out of vision from the trail. Not a single light seems to be lit aside from the porch and you assume it just means the occupant is sleeping. You can’t recall ever seeing anyone leave no matter what time you’ve passed by.

_******** _

“Well, it looks like whoever’s in there ain’t awake… Bedroom’s near the back so we might be able to just slip right in the front.” Your strategy is simple enough that Arthur just nods, but it’s clear he’s still got reservations.

_******** _

“What we lookin’ for in here anyway? You said there’s a house but there’s been no talk about no money. How do you know there’s somethin’ worth stealin’?” Arthur finally asks, quirking a brow.

_******** _

“Well, I heard some talk last time I was in the city. The fella that lives here bought this house with some stolen money, didn’t hear where from. ‘Course, the bank don’t care about that sorta thing as long as they get theirs. I figure if he already stole to get here, it wouldn’t be so bad if he shared, would it?” You pull out a bandanna of your own, solid red, and tie it around your neck as well. “House ain’t too big… He’s gotta have a stash, right?”

_******** _

Calloused fingers scratch thoughtfully at fuzz and Arthur grunts his satisfaction. If it was enough for Dutch, it was enough for him. “...I’ll go in first, find the bedroom, and keep watch by the door. You look around for the money.”

_******** _

His offer surprises you and you quickly pull the fabric over your face as you nod. You were determined to prove yourself with this job and Arthur’s cooperation at least helped to calm your nerves.

_******** _

Once you both are ready, Arthur begins to creep towards your target. You follow directly behind him and watch as he turns the knob, though the door doesn’t budge. He shifts to face you after cursing under his breath, crouching back down.

_******** _

“Locked. So now what?” His voice is a whisper, but he doesn’t sound as annoyed as you would expect. Your eyes dart from Arthur to the window.

_******** _

“You could, uh… send me in through there?” You point to the window nearby, tapping the glass. It was thin enough that maybe an opening could be made. Between the two of you, Arthur was larger, and the less noise made with broken glass, the better. “I can unlock the door and let you in.”

_******** _

It wasn’t your best idea, but the brunette didn’t disagree with you. He makes a motion to shoo you out of the way, unsheathing his knife and tapping at the glass once or twice with the hilt, testing its thickness. He firmly gives it a few hard bashes and the tinkling of glass on the other side sounds your success. You beam behind the bandanna feeling accomplished as Arthur returns his blade.

_******** _

“C’mere, then,” he breathes, motioning for you to come closer. 

_******** _

You comply, taking a few steps his way. His hands suddenly shift to your hips, fingers sliding through belt loops to turn you towards the house. The motion surprises you, but even as you jolt back against the other man’s chest, those same big hands slide up and under your arms. His grip is secure and you’re close enough to catch his natural scent, warm and faintly tangled with cigarettes. He grunts against your ear and before you can fully react, you’re up in the air.

_******** _

“Shit!” you hiss, reaching out for the base of the window carefully to avoid an injury. You brush away any glass bits that might still hurt you, red to the ears. Arthur quickly shushes you, nudges you closer once you’ve got a firm enough grasp on the windowsill. He moves his hands down to your rear one at a time to give you a bigger push and once you wriggle, you tumble gracelessly to the ground inside.

_******** _

Not your stealthiest moment, but success was still success!

_******** _

Arthur whispers something you don’t quite hear outside, hand against his forehead. You knew for certain he thought you were foolish, but he can’t deny the results after you open the door. Despite your covered face, your eyes express your triumph and for a moment, you almost think you catch a smile on his lips. It’s a little too dark to see, even with the moon, and he ends up covering his face with the bandanna around his neck before stepping in.

_******** _

Hand on his gun, your partner tilts his head towards the bedroom door and you nod as he crouches towards it. You start searching through drawers as quietly as you can manage, scouting for any sign of a stash and coming up with little to show for it. Aside from a few bottles of whiskey you swipe and maybe three or four dollars, you’re empty handed when you return to Arthur.

_******** _

He gathers the gist of the situation just looking at you and his attention turns to the bedroom door once more. You both assumed that if there was money worth stealing, it’d have to be in the room. You’re hesitant at first, but after all of this, there was no way you would come back to Dutch a failure. Against your better judgement, you pass in front of Arthur and put a hand on the knob. He remains out of the doorway and you turn the brass in your hand, stepping back with the movement of the door.

_******** _

It barely shifts before the man inside kicks it further, perhaps jumping the gun. Pushed back from the impact, you fall against the wall with a pained grunt. Arthur reacts quickly, focus zeroing in on the shotgun the homeowner swings your way. He ducks his head down and shoulders the stranger into the doorway, disrupting his aim but still only barely missing you.

_******** _

“ **Bastards!** Thought I gave y’all the slip in Valentine!” The man slurs, trying to shake Arthur’s vice grip around his weapon. “I won that game _fair an’ square!_ ” 

_******** _

You have no idea what he’s talking about.

_******** _

Arthur doesn’t give you too much time to process the words, let alone your near death experience. He looks between you and the drunk man incredulously, losing his hat as they wrestle. “Don’t just stand there, ya dumbass, do _somethin’ _!”__

_****____ ** ** _

It snaps you out of your haze and you push the partially destroyed door all the way open. Their grapple is a little too close for you to be comfortable shooting the man. Instead, you brace yourself and throw a messy punch to his face, ripping a curse from his lips and causing him to loosen his grip. Arthur rips the gun from the poor sod’s hands, clocking the other side of his head with the butt of the weapon. He almost immediately crumples to the ground.

_****____ ** ** _

You try to catch your breath, slouching back against the doorway. “Is… Is he…?”

_****____ ** ** _

“He ain’t dead.” Arthur assures you, placing the shotgun on a nearby dresser. He pulls down his bandanna and you follow suit. “I can see him breathin’. But he won’t be too happy when he wakes up…” He takes a brief moment to think before reaching into his satchel for rope, unceremoniously flipping the knocked out man onto his stomach and tying his hands and feet together. “Best find that money before that happens.”

_****____ ** ** _

You blink as if that thought just now occurred to you. Arthur rolls his eyes and begins to drag the snoozing man out of the room and towards the back door. Rubbing your sore head, you snoop around the bedroom, peeking once more in drawers. After rummaging through a wardrobe, you finally find a lock-box and nearly bump into the other man upon his return, hastily rounding the corner.

_****____ ** ** _

“Christ!” The cowboy rubs a hand over his face to collect himself and you’re too busy laughing, giddy in the wake of your victory.

_****____ ** ** _

“Got it! It’s gotta be in here!” You raise your voice far above a whisper, shoving the metal into Arthur’s hands. He quirks a brow, taking it to the dining room table while you manage to find a light. Once more pulling out his knife, he jabs the blade in tight, sending the lid flying open.

_****____ ** ** _

“...I’ll be damned.” For once, Arthur looks surprised. He reaches in and counts out a handful of bills, already impressed with the number he’s at. You swipe a few yourself, curiously counting out loud until you’re just as pleased. “There’s a couple grand in here, at least. Wonder what kinda men this fool swindled that much money from…” he muses.

_****____ ** ** _

“Who cares, it’s ours now!”

_****____ ** ** _

A fair enough point. Arthur at least seems to agree with you, and after returning the money to the box, he surprises you with a pat on your back, arm sliding around your shoulder. It’s comforting and makes you feel you belong for the first time since you joined the gang. Excitement still twisted around your nerves and your heart feels as if it’d leap through your ribs. If he minds the way you lean into him, indulging in his scent and warmth, he says nothing, and the moment hangs before you hesitantly step back.

_****____ ** ** _

“You did good. Better than I was expectin’, honestly,” he drawls. Those words alone are sweeter than honey and you melt under the praise. “Dutch’ll be happy to see this. I guess it’s proof enough... That you ain’t runnin’ off in the night, I mean.”

_****____ ** ** _

Your face is red, but you don’t look away from those turquoise eyes just yet. “...Dutch lettin’ me stay is prob'ly the only reason I ain’t dead or in jail. I’d be a damn fool to ruin that.” Your arms cross over your chest and despite the way your gaze finally lowers, your words still carry the same weight. “I wanna do right by Dutch… Wanna do right by you, too.”

_****____ ** ** _

The outlaw leans on the table with a free hand, body turning to face you. You worry he sees through to your inner thoughts and quickly try to derail the mood by shoving the money in your hands back into the box. It was only a matter of time, however. You knew Arthur wasn’t an idiot and he knew you weren’t a fool. Eventually, you'd talk.

_****____ ** ** _

“What do ya mean by that?” There’s a lift in that rough voice, almost as if he were curious, and you wish the Earth would swallow you whole. You know his eyes are fixed on you without even looking up. For a few seconds, you try to gather your words.

_****____ ** ** _

“...I mean,” you start, frowning. “...I know you don’t like me! Hell, I know the only reason you even agreed to come with me tonight was ‘cause Dutch said to. So maybe if I did enough, you’d see--”

_****____ ** ** _

Arthur interrupts you, tugs at your belt loop like he had outside. You’re caught off guard and the action combined with the laughter that follows silences you, making you feel lower than dirt.

_****____ ** ** _

“You ain’t slick,” he states, matter-of-factly. “You’re workin’ hard for Dutch, sure… But I know there’s more to it, ain’t there?” Arthur’s voice is stern, but not because he’s angry. The sound is purposeful, as if he knows you’ll react to it, and you fall for it as easily as he expects. Burning face aside, you don’t want him to poke fun at the way you feel.

_****____ ** ** _

“Bad enough you don’t feel like I do. You can at least respect me.”

_****____ ** ** _

Your companion doesn’t respond for a beat, but his grip remains on your waist. It's as it all clicked into place for him. “...What, you sweet on me?”

_****____ ** ** _

The words hit your ears and shame begins to flood you. Before you can even catch yourself, your hands shove the other man back a step. Just as quickly, you’re pulled once more up to Arthur’s chest after he’s steady, free hand gripping around your jaw. You have no choice but peer up at him while he searches your face for an answer- to what, you couldn’t be sure. A hand curls around the larger man’s wrist and the feeling is almost familiar.

_****____ ** ** _

You act on your impulse.

_****____ ** ** _

Arthur’s grip isn’t firm enough to stop you from moving. Your head slips out and you unevenly catch his lips with your own. At first, there’s no reaction, but he doesn’t push you away ether, and you take it as an incredibly good sign. A muffled sort of grunt eventually leaves him and the hand with fingers looped through your belt keeps you against his form as he guides you back towards the table.

_****____ ** ** _

The only reason you draw away is to breathe, but you’re sure you won’t be able to do that for long. Arthur was going to murder you, and honestly, you couldn’t blame him. Really, your only hope was that he’d at least make up an interesting enough story to tell everyone back at camp when he returned alone. You even squeeze your eyes shut, bracing your hands against the table.

_****____ ** ** _

There’s never the feel of a final blow and initially, there aren’t even any words. You peek at him and view the last second of Arthur licking over his lips. There’s a slight smirk tugging them and he leans forward, cornering you against the table effectively.

_****____ ** ** _

“Musta been like that for a long time.” The cocksure way he speaks rocks your center, wrapping your weak will around his finger. “Think Dutch knows you been tryin’ to be a good boy all for me?” It’s an extremely bold claim, but you put forth almost negative effort refuting it, dumbstruck look on your face. It takes longer than you’re proud of for you your voice to come back to you.

_****____ ** ** _

“...Don’t mess with me,” you warn, trying to preemptively defend yourself. If this would end up with him toying with you, you wanted no part of it. “I swear if you’re jus’ gonna-”

_****____ ** ** _

“Ain’t messin’,” he bounces back firmly, and you believe him. He’s never lied to you before. After surveying your companion’s expression in turn, you decide not to doubt him now, hands pushing on the table to hoist yourself onto its surface.

_****____ ** ** _

Arthur, isn’t quite sure you believe him despite the starstruck expression you hold. This time, he closes the gap between you both, hands squarely on your hips. The table evens the playing field making you just as tall as he is for the most part, and your hands can’t resist sending fingers messing through his sandy hair. Your legs even part without a single word, greed pulling the cowboy in to fill up the empty spaces between. It’s a little messy and unpracticed, but once a rhythm is established, the two of you kiss until arousal starts to tent your slacks.

_****____ ** ** _

You almost don’t want to let a second pass, fear like ivy up your spine and whispering against your ear. Surely your hesitation would kill the moment, you think, but it never quite dies between you two. Arthur spends minimal time catching his breath before his hands wander to the thighs on around his waist, and he flashes you an inquisitive look that you understand immediately. He was asking for permission and you wouldn’t dare turn him down.

_****____ ** ** _

“You ain’t gonna tell Dutch, are ya?” You only manage a small amount of concern in your voice, more occupied with the buttons on your loose shirt. It’s hard to focus on anything that isn’t Arthur or your swelling need. Without further consideration, the fabric falls to the table underneath.

_****____ ** ** _

“You really thinkin’ about him right now?” Arthur laughs low, busies himself with his own garment as the sound dances its way into your ears. He takes a half step or so back just to allow for room and you struggle not to bounce your gaze between his hands and belt now that you aren’t practically glued together.

_****____ ** ** _

“Not like that…”

_****____ ** ** _

“Then don’t worry about it,” he replies, trying to reassuring you. That was simple enough.

_****____ ** ** _

You’re bare chested before he is, but the gunslinger has far more equipment. His weapon holsters and gun belts come off first, carefully placed on the table out of the way and near his satchel. It gives you time to burn the images of his strip into your brain, shamelessly studying his rugged form. You imagine the work he does for everyone around the camp keeps him so fit as you sweep down his arms. Resisting the rising urge to trail through his fuzzy chest and abdomen, your focus returns to his hands near his buckle and, more importantly, how they’ve suddenly stopped.

_****____ ** ** _

“You wanna do more than jus’ look, don’tcha?” The question is almost mumbled but you hear him loud and clear. You carefully hop off of the table a little faster than he expects and he’s still fumbling with the belt and zipper, not that you mind. Once his jeans are open enough, the man inches further back to steady himself against the wall. “C’mere, boy.”

_****____ ** ** _

Your feet close the gap before you can even really make the decision yourself. Arthur tries to guide you to your knees, but you’re already dropping down, hands clutching at the other man’s hips in an effort to balance yourself. The way he regards you quickens your pulse and you shove the tough fabric down enough to finally free his half hard member. Your hand wraps around the girth, giving it a slow stroke or two and admiring the sight. It pulls a hiss from the man above you and that’s all the goading you need.

_****____ ** ** _

“Might not have too much time here,” Arthur gently reminds you.

_****____ ** ** _

You knew that. Any residual hesitation you have is swallowed down and you watch the man’s face, leaning closer. Once your lips part, you take the head of him past your teeth and slide your tongue against the underside. After popping your lips off, the muscle follows the vein further down, using your hand to give attention to spaces your mouth can’t reach just yet. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, but you manage to catch the strained way your name falls out of Arthur’s mouth the moment you drag back up towards the head.

_****____ ** ** _

That sound alone sends a bolt through your body.

_****____ ** ** _

Arthur is a little more pent up than you considered. His cock throbs and pulses at your every touch, hardening in your mouth and making it a little easier to set the pace. Reluctantly, you start out slow in an effort to adjust to the size of him. He doesn’t rush you despite his earlier warning, and when you feel the weight of his hand on your head, your body fully relaxes. By the time he’s solid, you can take him more than halfway with each pass, and he’s at the back of your throat. You even manage to swallow a few times around the thickness, and the way you nearly choke has you grinding into the heel of your palm.

_****____ ** ** _

The cowboy tries his best to keep his reactions down, finding it difficult. You were enthusiastic, far more than he expected, and his hips stutter every now and again towards the wet heat of your throat. Unbothered by his steadily growing movement, your jaw slacks to better accommodate him, and you brace yourself with his thighs once he stops holding back. By the time Arthur even considers slowing down, you’ve already drooled around him and he tugs your head back with the grip he has in your hair, allowing you to breathe. You lick your swollen lips and quickly pant, eyes shining with your pride.

_****____ ** ** _

“What’d ya stop for, huh?” you ask breathlessly, wiping your messy mouth with the back of your hand. There’s a taunt in your voice, shit-eating grin on your lips. He mutters a curse and drags a palm down his face.

_****____ ** ** _

“Listen… If you’re itchin’ for somethin’ more, we need to do it before I decide your mouth is enough…” There’s a rumble in that gravel voice and you practically whine, scrambling to stand. “There’s a bottle of snake oil in my satchel… Go grab it for me.”

_****____ ** ** _

Obediently, you turn back to the table and tug the leather bag closer to you. You fish through its contents, careful not to search too long. The last thing you wanted was for Arthur to think you were snooping through his belongings, but you can’t help looking every now and again. As soon as you find the oil, you fold the flap down and stumble back to the other, tinted glass in tow. Arthur has his hand out and the sight of impatient fingers twitching finally gets you hand it over. He places it by his feet in the low light, confusion twisting over your face, though there’s little time to process it.

_****____ ** ** _

Thick fingers slide around your hips as Arthur pulls you again to his form. You gasp once you meet him and your body can’t resist grinding hard against the knee strategically pressed between your legs. Without thinking, you tightly clutch his biceps and groan openly, louder than you’re proud of. The knee draws back, but is quickly replaced by the flat of the other’s palm and you rut towards it with the same desperation regardless.

_****____ ** ** _

Arthur’s head lowers until you feel a brush over the shell of your ear, the low sound of his laughter painting your face red. There are fingers unbuttoning your pants and tugging down your zipper, but the unsteady way your hips grind make it a difficult task. You slow once the haze clears from your eyes, slacks a bit further down your thighs.

_****____ ** ** _

“Easy, boy, easy… And you tried makin’ me feel bad, bein’ this wound up…” The lift in his voice calms the part of you still thinking you’re being teased but you find yourself excited by the shame it brings. As Arthur picks the bottle from the floor, he nudges you towards the wall. You follow the silent request with your hands pressing to the wood at first, soon dropping your pants down towards your knees. “Poor thing.”

_****____ ** ** _

“Yeah, well, you’re jus’ as bad off. I can tell.” Your own voice comes out quietly in comparison.

_****____ ** ** _

The only response you get is the gentle pop of the bottle uncorking. He doesn’t disagree and you bask in feeling right before a hand firmly squeezes your rear. The sensation reflexively parts your legs and a slick finger follows your movement, surprising you with the way it lazily swipes over your entrance. When you jolt, Arthur does it again, and you start to slack against the wall, doing your best to relax.

_****____ ** ** _

You feel Arthur pull away slightly and jut your hips to follow him, chancing a quick glance over your shoulder. Arthur’s attention is turned to his cock while he pours the contents of the bottle carefully over himself. Trying to steady your breathing, you rest your face on the surface holding you up until the larger man returns, heavy hands taking their rightful place on your waist. You feel the head of his cock drag over you while he guides himself to your hole, chest against your back.

_****____ ** ** _

Finally, he eases his way into you. You don’t mind the burn of him stretching you wider, but you grit your teeth regardless, hissing loudly. Arthur takes his time with filling you, inching forward at an almost agonizingly slow pace you grow to appreciate considering the relative ease. By the time he bottoms out, you’re shuddering tight against him feeling like the fingers on your skin could leave a bruise in their wake.

_****____ ** ** _

Your mouth opens to speak and fail to grab hold of any words. The hips against you pull back and draw a whimper from your throat, lifting the pitch and sending your hand into his hair above you. Arthur doesn’t mind the grip and finds himself unable to keep his enjoyment to himself, low murmurs mixing with your steadily growing pants. He’s eager to enter your warmth again and again, nearly snapping forward to fill you, the rush twisting your face in pleasure.

_****____ ** ** _

“Arthur, _shit_...!”

_****____ ** ** _

You cry out, free hand latching around the other man’s wrist as if he could keep you grounded. Each pump of his hips presses you so hard to the wall you almost fear he’d flatten you against the wood. He slips deep inside of you, head of his cock occasionally nudging up against the bundle of nerves that drove you wild.

_****____ ** ** _

There’s a hand soon snaking around your cock and the contact has you suddenly yank at sandy locks, pulling a grunt through tight teeth. You feel him practically buried inside of you, squeezing tight around his length. You drip against his palm, making the twisting way his hand strokes down to the hilt much more smooth. Before you can stop yourself, your hips lurch forward and you struggle to match the pace he fucks into you.

_****____ ** ** _

“Don’t even think about holdin’ back,” Arthur rasps. You feel his teeth against the back of your neck and let another shameless sob free. “Gonna get it all out while we’re here… You want that? ‘Course ya do...”

_****____ ** ** _

Hearing him briefly silences you and you only end up being able to mindlessly nod. Your hand around Arthur’s wrist tightens with your building climax, heat pooling in your belly and threatening to send you flying over the edge.

_****____ ** ** _

“God, I-I think-”

_****____ ** ** _

“Shhh, don’t think… C’mon, boy…” He purrs the words, arm around your waist holding you tight against his body. Your cock pulses under the other’s care and suddenly, your eyes flutter closed.

_****____ ** ** _

Without warning, you’re coming hard enough to partially hit the wall. It rocks your body, shaking hips desperately driving against Arthur’s hand while your vision practically whites out. Your breath comes in short heaves and you know the only reason you’re even still standing is because of the strong arm around you. Even that grip begins to falter after a moment or two passes. You feel a warmth coating your insides and realize the feeling against your skin comes from your partner reaching his peak, face buried against your back.

_****____ ** ** _

For a stretch, neither of you can say anything, preoccupied with trying to catch your breath and blinking the stars away. You sink into the wall, realizing shortly that it wasn’t ever quite as comfortable as you might have imagined. The cowboy behind you is limp, but you don’t seem to mind. You free his wrist and stroke the skin affectionately with your thumb. 

_****____ ** ** _

With a quiet rumble, Arthur straightens up and tries to speak. A laugh leaves him instead, contagious enough to get you going at the same time. You both remain against each other a spell before you feel his cock slipping out of you, unhappy with how empty you soon are. Reluctantly, you pull up your bottoms and slowly turn to face the other man.

_****____ ** ** _

“You really are sweet on me, huh?” Arthur tugs up his jeans and you frown, staring at the ground. “...Ain’t a bad thing. Can’t rightfully say I don’t feel nothin’. Especially considerin’ all… this.” A hand circles in the air as if he’s trying to fish for the right words.

_****____ ** ** _

That felt hopeful. The smile that tugged on those lips felt even more so and you can’t help but mirror it as you return to the table. You reach for your shirt and slide it over your arms, buttoning it from the bottom.

_****____ ** ** _

“...Yeah. Done a lot for me an’ I mean it when I say I wanna do right,” you reply, smoothing down your clothes some.

_****____ ** ** _

Arthur cleans his hand on his bandanna once he walks to his own supplies, shoving the soiled fabric away into his satchel. With practiced ease, he hooks belts and holsters back around his waist and plants his hat onto his head. “Promise I won’t tell Dutch, but we’ll talk. You an’ me, I mean.”

_****____ ** ** _

It wasn’t outright denial and you’ve learned by now that it usually indicated victory. A grin creeps over your face while you hook your own holster around your hips. “No rush. We gotta show him this stuff first anyway,” you point out, tapping the lock-box.

_****____ ** ** _

With a quiet nod, the outlaw scoops the box up and under one of his arms. He pats it carefully. “Can’t forget about that. Let’s go home, then. Wanna be long gone before that son of a bitch wakes up…”

_****____ ** ** _

You had forgotten all about the drunkard!

_****____ ** ** _

Without another word, you quickly stride to the door while Arthur shakes his head, following behind you. He gives you a pat on the shoulder and you swell, prickling with pride and satisfaction. If Dutch was proud of you before, you only hoped he’d be over the moon with these results.

_****____ ** ** _

Most of all, you hope your lucky night would forecast better things to come.

_****____ ** ** _

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first posted work! I hope others can find themselves in the shoes of this good lad here. I want to write another soon, maybe continuing from here and including other characters! (Dutch would be next on my list.)


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